


the deeper the wound (i'm inside you)

by tgrsndshrks



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Bickering, Caretaking, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 00:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12899736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgrsndshrks/pseuds/tgrsndshrks
Summary: Brian just sighs and lets Trent clean him up. “I don’t know why you thought scraping yourself up with a broken beer bottle would be a good idea. I still maintain that you’re an idiot and I hate you.”or, trent cleans brian up after an Incident with a beer bottle.





	the deeper the wound (i'm inside you)

**Author's Note:**

> i reblogged a prompt list and the boyfriend sent me "after an injury, hurt/comfort", and after ray halosandseeds wrote something about trent and brian wrt brian self harming onstage, i was like fuck it let's do a thing. it got long enough that i feel it goes into ficlet territory. hence why it's here.
> 
> the rating is low bc there's only verbal references to boners and banging. also there's potty mouth but like. what do i write that doesn't have potty mouth
> 
> title from we're in this together from the fraggle by nine inch snails

“You’re an idiot,” Trent says, standing over Brian, where he lay on the couch. Trent breaks open a package of alcohol pads, a bunch of them falling on the floor. “Shit.”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Brian says, and Trent ignores him, ripping one of the packets open with his teeth as he sits on Brian’s legs. Trent wipes over Brian’s chest with the pad and Brian hisses, fresh red cut lines stinging.

“You’re lucky I’m not already covered in cornstarch,” Trent mumbles. “Stay still.” Brian just sighs and lets Trent clean him up. “I don’t know why you thought scraping yourself up with a broken beer bottle would be a good idea. I still maintain that you’re an idiot and I hate you.”

“Worth it if I get to have the most attractive nurse of all time,” Brian says, and Trent narrows his eyes at him, opening the box of bandaids. “If I do it again tomorrow night will you wear a cute little nurse outfit to patch me up?”

“Fuck you,” Trent huffs, feeling his face burn. He peels the back off a bandage and sticks it down to Brian’s chest, across the shortest cut. “I wish you’d just do this in like, a productive way,” he adds. He rips open another bandaid. “Y'know. Another lip piercing. Something that doesn’t involve having to get you a tetanus shot afterwards.”

“I don’t think you can get tetanus from glass,” Brian says. He’s not squirming anymore, just letting Trent cover the worst of the cuts.

“Where is this bruise even from?” Trent asks, lifting Brian’s arm out of the way and sitting up, closer into his lap.

“Huh?” Brian asks, raising a brow. He looks down. “Oh. I think I ran into Daisy and he jabbed the headstock of his guitar into my ribs. I was really drunk though, so.” He shrugs. Trent snorts a laugh.

“I think if Robin or Danny tried to hit me back every time I ran into them I’d be dead by now,” he says, tossing the half-empty box of bandaids onto the floor. “Chris would’ve murdered me in my sleep.” Trent admires his handiwork, leans down, presses his lips to Brian’s forehead. “There. Fixed.”

“Nuh uh,” Brian says. “You gotta kiss ‘em better.” Trent gives him a look. Brian just looks back at him expectantly. He won’t give. Never does.

“Fuck, fine,” Trent sighs. He shifts down a little, ducking his head down to a scratch on Brian’s shoulder and kissing it. “God, I’m gonna get hepatitis.”

“I don’t have hepatitis,” Brian says. “At least, not as far as I’m aware.” Trent dots kisses across Brian’s chest, on each bandaid, a scratch or two, and maybe on a couple scars that don’t strictly need kissing better. Trent rests his head on Brian’s stomach, legs hanging off the couch. He shifts a little, furrows his brow.

“Do you have a boner?” Trent asks. 

“Technically, no,” Brian says. Trent lifts his head again, looks at him.

“Technically?” Trent asks.

“A chub doesn’t count,” Brian says matter-of-factly, putting his hands behind his head. Trent rolls his eyes, sits up.

“I gotta go bathe in corn starch,” he says. “If I take much longer they’re gonna think we were having a quickie.”

“Still time,” Brian says, shooting him a wink.

“No, there isn’t,” Trent says flatly, standing up.

“There wasn’t enough yelling and knocking shit over for them to think we were fucking anyway,” Brian says, stretching his legs out, propping his boots up on the opposite arm of the couch. _Long fucker,_ Trent thinks.

“I’m leaving,” Trent says. He leaves. For a long moment, Brian considers taking all the band-aids off, on account of he hates band-aids, but decides to leave them for Trent’s sake.

**Author's Note:**

> [if you wanna send me a prompt on tumblr for a ficlet here's the list](http://skold.tumblr.com/post/168137239492/101-kinks-send-me-a-number-and-a-ship-and-ill) also i have a p@treon now that's linked in my sidebar on there i'm just tryin not to bend/break the ao3 rules by linking it here but if u want wip excerpts and shelved projects for a dollar smash that become a patron button


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